


say yes to heaven (our fingers dance when they meet)

by teenblush



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 4 + 1 things, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, but only a lil - Freeform, no dying!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 21:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenblush/pseuds/teenblush
Summary: “You and me,” Richie whispers again, tasting salty tears in his mouth and he grips Eddie’s face harder. “I’ll get you out of here and I’ll fucking take care of you. Like I’ve always had. Like you’ve always had. I’ll take care of you like you take care of me.”[ Because despite it all, Richie will always take care of Eddie. ]





	say yes to heaven (our fingers dance when they meet)

**Author's Note:**

> ❥ title is from [yes to heaven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvZN8OaPMKk) and [this side of paradise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvZN8OaPMKk)  
❥ events are mixed from the book and both movies! so if usee a lil funky,, u know

  
  


**i. ** _give peace a chance_

The first time it happened, they were at Richie’s house, a new, common thing Eddie’s been doing. It wasn’t new (Richie had the nicest house) for the Losers to hang there, but it _was_ new for Eddie—for Richie to ask him to hang at his house just to talk shit about Bowers and do homework (mostly Eddie).

But today, Richie was, surprisingly, trying to do his summer essay. Eddie snorts whenever he remembers it. Richie’s been hunched over his desk for the last hour, occasionally lifting his head up whenever he remembers something to tell Eddie.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been playing with Richie’s cutter—stupid and utterly dangerous, he knows. But he can’t help it! This was the first time Richie’s been so focused on what he’s doing that he completely forgot he’s with someone. And it was new for Eddie to see Richie so focused and quiet. He’s been staring at his hunched back for an hour. (And his hair; when did it get so long and curly? And why does it look so soft?)

(Eddie’s skeptical of Richie’s showering habits.)

Besides, Richie’s bed is awfully soft and comfortable; you can’t help but just stay there and lie.

Eddie sighs and puts the cutter on the bed, he’s been playing with it for an hour, just opening then closing it. A boy can do so much before getting bored. How long is Richie’s essay anyway?

He slowly sits up, hearing his back crack and frowning. That doesn’t sound good. Oh, well. He looks around, looks at Richie’s closet, then at the floor. His goddamn messy floor.

“Disgusting,” he murmurs.

“What’s that, Eds?” Richie says loudly. “What’dya see, partner?”

“Your ass,” he bites back. “Your room is disgusting, Richie.”

“Damn,” Richie whistles. “But you sure do love hanging here, don’t ya?”

Eddie frowns and deepens it when Richie turns around to grin widely at him. He throws up his middle finger. “Fuck you, asshole.”

“Talk dirty to me, Eds.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says whilst laughing before shaking his head. “Go write your shit, dumbass. Can I use some of these papers?”

Richie shrugs. “Go ahead. I don’t even know what those are.”

Eddie picks one off the ground gingerly and turns it around. In red, it says: **89/100 A+**

“I hate your smartass.” He frowns before shaking the paper. “I’m using your chemistry exam.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Richie turns back to his essay and Eddie hums, sitting back on the bed and holding the paper in one hand and the cutter in the other. He tries to slice off a small part but frowns when rust rests on the paper instead.

“Your cutter is fucking useless, dude.”

“Give it to me, then,” Richie says offhandedly. “It’s probably too dull.”

“I know how to fucking use it,” Eddie snaps and ignores Richie’s snort of laughter.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

Eddie mutters a small “don’t call me that” but is thankful when Richie doesn’t turn around to look at his reddening cheeks. He hums and slowly uses the razor to cut off the dulling edge, making sure his arms are far from his face; he doesn’t want any new scars on his face, thank you very much. He completely forgets about his outstretched legs in front of him.

(One day, when he tells about this, he’ll reason that being in Richie’s room makes him dumb.)

A yell of triumph leaves his mouth once the dull edge flies off, but it quickly turns into a groan of shock and pain when it grazes his lower right leg. “Shit!” he curses out when blood quickly wells up and drips down his leg. The edge might’ve been dull, but it cut too deep that it actually feels painful.

“Holy shit, Richie!”

“What the fuck happened? Is that blood?” he hears the scrape of the chair against the floor and he cringes at the sound.

“No, dipshit,” Eddie snaps, not taking his eyes off his wound. “It’s your mom’s period fucking blood.”

“Nice one, Eds,” Richie has actually bent down from laughing too hard and Eddie frowns.

“Stop laughing, asshat! I’m _dying_!”

“Chill the fuck out, Eds, sheesh,” Richie shakes his head before walking towards the drawer beside his bed and Eddie turns quiet when he sees him pull out a small…green kit? with a red cross on it?

“What the fuck is that?”

“Huh?” Richie turns to him before throwing him the kit. “It’s just a first aid kit, dude. Don’t get all suspicious on me.”

“What the fuck,” Eddie turns the kit around in his hands. “You bought this shit?”

“Nah, man,” Richie shrugs, leaning against his drawer but he doesn’t quite meet Eddie’s eyes. “Just some shit I got, Edward.”

“No way on earth you bought this with your own shit, Richie,” Eddie turns to him in awe but the other is still avoiding his eyes. “Did you?”

“Shut the fuck up, dude, worms are crawling inside your wound.”

“What the _fuck_?!” Eddie shrieks, moving back on the bed and watches as his blood splutters around the bed—the pristine, _white_ bedsheets. There’s _worms_ on his bed? Holy shit—

“_What the fuck, Edward?!_”

“You fucking—_asshole_!”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie. Here, let me.”

It’s too quick for Eddie but not long, Richie is sitting in front of him and has snatched the kit from him. Eddie stares as Richie opens the kit before staring at it.

“Okay,” Richie says. “I don’t know how to do this, actually.”

“You fucking,” Eddie snatches it back, “you’re so useless.”

“Feeling the love, Eddie-bear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He quickly takes out some bandages and some alcohol, ignoring Richie’s stare. When he finally takes out some cotton balls, Richie speaks up.

“Can I do it for you?”

Eddie freezes. His eyes meet Richie’s, the other staring at him intently with such intensity that Eddie feels like he isn’t even talking to Richie. When did he get so serious?

“Uh,” he blinks. “Okay?”

Richie’s face breaks into a grin and he snatches the alcohol and cottons from Eddie’s hand. “All right!” he says in a British voice, “let’s get to it, then, Mr. Kaspbrak!”

“Don’t fucking make me regret this, asshole.”

Richie then looks at him with a soft smile and Eddie feels frozen, feels the words dry his mouth as he looks at Richie’s wide eyes. “What do I do, Eds?”

“Oh, um,” he blanks out. “Can you clean up around it first?”

He watches as Richie slowly maneuvers his wounded leg and places it on top of his, some blood dripping to his legs and bed. Eddie flushes again.

“Sorry about your bed, Richie,” he says bashfully, and Richie looks at him quickly with a grin.

“It’s-a no problem-o, Edward-o!” he says in an accent Eddie can’t even decipher.

“What the hell was that?”

“It’s my Italian accent, my Eddie,” Richie says and places the cotton gingerly on his leg where the blood has splattered. Eddie shivers. “Sorry, Eds.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie reassures him, “your Italian accent sucks.” 

Richie hums and continues to clean around the wound and Eddie frowns when he throws the dirty cotton balls to the floor.

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Not your room, not your problem, sir,” Richie says in a British accent and Eddie lets a small giggle leave his mouth.

After a few minutes, the bleeding has stopped a little and Eddie frowns at his wound. “That looks disgusting.”

“Sure is, buckaroo,” Richie inspects it before swiping the cotton ball around it. “This is the messiest I’ve ever seen you, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” he frowns, moving his leg a little to look at the wound. “Has it stopped bleeding?”

“Do you think this bigass wound has already stopped bleeding?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie sticks out his tongue, “just bandage it, dickwad.”

Richie hums and unrolls the bandage. Eddie watches in uncertainty as Richie lifts his leg a little before wrapping the bandage around his leg. He then looks at Eddie, “Am I doing this right?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t really care.”

Richie gasps, almost sounding scandalized, dropping the bandage to cover his mouth with a hand. “Who are you and what have you done to my Eddie?!”

Eddie looks at him with a blank look. 

Richie tuts and continues on wrapping the bandage around his leg. “My Eddie wouldn’t have let my dirty, dirty hands do bullshit on his wounds!”

Eddie watches as Richie continues on putting the bandage gingerly and wills his cheeks not to blush (he failed). “Your hands aren’t dirty,” he blurts out softly, “it’s okay, Richie.”

Richie looks up at him with his wide eyes before letting a soft smile grace his lips. As they stare at each other, Richie goes back to the bandage and quickly tapes it together. 

“All done, ol’ chap!” Richie says in an old American accent and Eddie frowns. “Say thank you to Doctor Tozier now!”

He watches as Richie gently slaps his wound and he shrieks.

“What the fuck!” he shrieks at Richie’s laughing face and watches as it changes into a horrifying one when Eddie quickly picks up the cutter beside him. He straightens up and points it at Richie, who has backed away and leaned back on his hands.

“I’m gonna kill you, you dickface!”

“Kidding—_Eds_—Eddie, I’m _kidding_!”

**ii. ** _if you go, i’ll stay / i’ve got my mind on you_

They were at the barrens, in the clubhouse and Richie’s in the hammock as usual. He was the only one at first, a Batman comic he stole from his cousin in hand and humming to a song by Metallica. He’s slowly kicking down the ground to sway the hammock as he reads, quietly mouthing the words.

A thud from above the door startles him and he puts down the book and listens to the voices. Bowers may have been imprisoned but the thought of him escaping is always possible in Richie’s mind. 

“Oh my fucking god, Stan, I’m not touching that again.”

Richie lets out an unexpected laugh. Eddie.

“You’re so lame,” Stan’s voice says, and the door opens with light flashing Richie’s eyes. “Are you a loser? Are you?”

“We’re called Losers Club, asshole. _Oh_, hey, Richie.”

“Hello, my Eds,” Richie sing-songs from the hammock and grins at Stan who had went down first and helped Eddie get down. “Did you miss your darling Richie?”

“What the fuck? Fuck you,” Eddie frowns and Stanley snickers, getting a shower cap and placing it on his head. Eddie stands in front of Richie, arms crossed as he looks down at him with a frown.

“Really, Stan?” Richie eyes the shower cap before looking back at Eddie and grinning toothily at him. 

Stan shows him his middle finger and proceeds to sit down. “Of course, you’re hogging the hammock,” he says, settling down on the wooden bench Ben had just made a week ago. “Fucking degenerate.”

Richie gasps scandalized, hand going to his chest. “_Stanley_!”

Stan ignores him and proceeds to take out a piece of paper. Richie sits up a little and asks, “What ya got there, Stan the Man?”

“Don’t call me that,” Stan frowns, “and this is none of your business.”

“Rude!”

Stan ignores him. Richie stares at him. He feels a kick on his outstretched leg that was resting on the ground. He looks up.

“It’s my turn, Richie,” Eddie frowns and kicks him again. “I know you’ve been sitting there for hours.”

Richie opens his arms and fixes him a smug look. “In my arms, baby!”

Eddie opens his mouth in shock but is speechless as Richie stares at him with bright eyes and open arms. “You—I fucking—you, _asshole_.”

Richie fake cries, moving his arms and covering his face as he pretends to sob. “Left by my lover… alone in the sea, all by myself.”

“I just wanna sit at the hammock,” Eddie sighs, crossing his arms and pouting at Richie. Richie looks at him in awe. “Let me use the hammock, Richie_eee_.” He elongates his name and Richie feels like he’s going to explode just from how cute Eddie is. He’s _pouting_!

“Cute, cute, cute!” Richie gasps, covering his mouth and taking Eddie’s arm and letting him take the other side of the hammock, the latter’s legs on top of Richie’s. Eddie thrashes around, even hitting Richie on the face with his foot (“_ouch! what the hell, spaghetti?_”) before he finally groans loudly and settles down with a frown on his face and arms crossed on his chest.

“Asshole,” Eddie grumbles before eyeing the comic sitting atop Richie’s lap. He takes it with a quick hand and looks at the cover.

“My dick!”

“Is super small?” a voice suddenly says from above and Richie gasps as Eddie bursts into laughter.

“_God_?!”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Beverly’s legs flop downwards as she tries to find the stairs. She groans a little before jumping down and winking at Richie and Eddie. “It’s your God, boys.”

“Hello, Beverly.” Stan says absentmindedly. Bill jumps down after Beverly has moved to sit beside Stan.

“Hey, Bill. Where’s Ben?”

“W-W-Woh-Working on his cuh-college application f-f-foh-foh-forms,” Bill says, giving Stan a high-five before waving at the two boys sitting uncomfortably at the hammock. He sits down at the ground and looks at them again. “Isn’t that u-uhn-uh-uncomf-foh-fortable?”

“Yeah, ‘cause Eddie won’t give his Richie some dear loving.” Richie pouts as Beverly snorts into laughter. Richie frowns at her, crossing his arms. Eddie reads through his comic.

Then, “Wait, college _what_?”

“College forms,” Stan says then, looking at Richie with raised brows. “You _are_ going to college, right?”

Richie doesn’t notice the lingering stare Eddie fixes on him, and he frowns at Stan. “It’s summer, bitches! And you’re talking about _college_?”

“He’s right, Rich,” Bill speaks up, “c-cuh-college is pretty impo-poh-portant.”

Richie thinks about it and wills himself to believe that he finally has an excuse to leave. “All right,” he says, “might as well leave this shithole.”

Stan snorts. “You got that right,” he chuckles, “so get your ass working, dickhole.”

Richie groans loudly. “I just wanna leave Derry, man. I hate this fucking place.”

“We all do,” Beverly rolls her eyes before taking a cigarette out of her shorts pocket. She looks at Eddie, who shrugs at her and she smiles, lighting it quickly. “I can’t wait to leave this place.”

Richie frowns at Beverly before looking at Eddie. He quickly nudges his foot with his to which Eddie ignores. He looks back again at Beverly and they both share a look. Beverly rolls her eyes and continues smoking.

“Are you all going to leave?” Eddie asks suddenly, eyes focused on the comic and Richie focuses his gaze on him again. The clubhouse is quiet as they all face him.

“Yeah,” Beverly says quietly. “You know I’ll be leaving, Eddie.”

Richie looks at his hands. Oh yeah, will Eddie ever get to leave this shithole? Richie fucking hopes so. He’ll smuggle Eddie in his suitcase if there’s no other way. The thought of Eddie being all alone in this shit town with his mom, and all the other assholes roaming around, it makes Richie’s blood boil for some reason. Like the thought of leaving Eddie all alone will break him in all the ways he didn’t know he could. And in those split seconds, Richie balls up his fists and thinks of a plan.

There is no fucking way Richie Tozier is leaving Derry without Eddie Kaspbrak.

When he comes back to his senses, Bill, Stan, and Beverly are in their own world, looking at Stan’s piece of paper that Richie still doesn’t have any idea is and he looks at Eddie. Looks at his best friend—his best friend that’s been with him for so many years, for so many disgusting moments, for so many hurt and trauma, for so many good and happy memories, for so many jokes—and thinks _oh_. Oh, oh, oh. He looks at Eddie and thinks; _I am not leaving Derry without you_; _I am not leaving without you_; _I am not leaving you_. He looks at Eddie and feels hurt and love and pain and every other emotion he didn’t know he could feel spin and storm his chest like a hurricane. He looks at Eddie and burns.

“Leaving Derry,” he mumbles, looking at his hands. “I’m leaving Derry.”

Richie jumps a little and feels his heart jump a little too. 

_eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie_

Holy fuck.

He feels a strong jostle on the hammock, and he blinks and looks at Eddie and feels his heart stop. Eddie has that look in his eyes and his chest is heaving a little too hard and his grip on the comic is too tight, the knuckles on his hands turning white, and he’s looking at Richie with panic all over his face and his mouth opens and he whispers _panic attack_ and Richie jumps up from the hammock.

“Eds, Eds, _Eds_,” he quickly kneels in front of him and helps him sit up a little straighter. Eddie follows him and he tries to inhale big gulps of air, but all Richie hears are wheezes and the panicked voices of his friends behind him.

“Look at me, Eddie,” Richie says seriously, and Eddie does. “Breathe with me, okay? Follow me, Eddie.”

Richie evens out his breathing and watches carefully as Eddie does the same. There’s a few minutes of them trying to breathe together and when Eddie’s chest has stopped heaving too hard, Richie says, “Do you need an inhaler?”

“Yeah,” Eddie tries to wheeze out. “But I didn’t bring mine.”

Richie vaguely hears Bill stutter out a _shit_ before he asks again, “Do you need it?”

“Yes, Richie,” Eddie closes his eyes and grits his teeth.

“I have one,” Richie finally says, softly and lowers his voice a little but he knows the other three heard him. When Eddie opens his eyes in shock, they’re a little droopy and his breathing is slowing down a little. Richie stands up straight and fumbles with his pocket and takes out an inhaler. Eddie looks at it in shock.

“C’mon, spaghetti,” Richie offers it to him, “do you still need it? It’s not like I do.”

“You—” Eddie starts before taking the inhaler and put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Richie watches as Eddie takes a deep breathe once he puts away the inhaler and looks down at his hands.

“You okay, Eddie?” Richie asks then, kneeling on the ground again and placing a hand on Eddie’s knee. They both look at each other and Richie feels his heart in his throat.

Eddie has never looked so beautiful.

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly. “I’m good.”

_Do you wanna talk about it?_ is something Richie wants to say but he doesn’t. They don’t go like that. Him and Eddie. That’s a Bill and Eddie. Richie thinks if there’s a chance of him and Eddie.

(Richie and Eddie. Eddie and Richie. _Richie and Eddie._)

Instead, Richie slaps Eddie’s knee and stands up again. “All right, ladies and gentlemen!” he says in a British announcer voice. “Show’s done now!”

“Fuck off, Rich,” Eddie grumbles. “To think I was gonna thank your ass.”

“It is pretty good, right?” Richie turns and shakes his butt in Eddie’s direction and laughs at his shout of disgust.

“Please stop,” Stan groans. “I’ve seen enough.”

“Beverly, dah-ling!” Richie shouts, extending a hand to a laughing Beverly, who’s shaking her head. “Dance with me!”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

Later, when they’re all leaving the clubhouse and the sun is setting and Eddie’s panicking about getting home, he grabs Richie’s arm and looks at the ground.

“What is it, Eds?”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says instantly and then he’s meeting Richie’s eyes and there’s red on his cheeks and spreading across his nose and Richie’s quiet. “I just wanna—uhm—_thanks_, you know, for earlier. Thanks for not being an asshole.”

“Of course, Eds!” Richie grins. “That’s what friends are for.”

Eddie looks at him with a look he can’t decipher before he nods and lets go of his arm. Richie can still feel the warmth of his hand and imagines what it would feel like to hold Eddie’s hand. “Yeah,” Eddie says softly. “Bye, asshole. Thanks again, really.”

“Adios, amigo!” Richie grins, watching as Eddie starts walking forward quickly and waving goodbye to the others. They all watch his retreating figure and like some choreography, the three turn to Richie.

“You always have an extra inhaler?” Beverly smirks, raising a brow at him and Bill elbows her in the stomach.

Richie shrugs. “It’s for Eddie.”

“Th—ah—That’s s-suh-sweet, Richie.”

Richie scoffs out a laugh and begins walking, eyes locked on the ground and kicking away leaves. “You guys would do the same.”

“We don’t have extra inhalers in our pockets,” Stan says matter-of-factly, and Richie feels his heart stop. He feels a hand grab his and he looks at his left to find Beverly smiling at him with an understanding look and he feels his throat clog up.

“It’s okay, Rich,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay.”

When they walk home holding hands, Richie thinks of how Eddie’s hands would feel like instead.

**iii.** _you come back, i’ll be right here_

Richie Tozier leaves Derry without Eddie Kaspbrak.

And then, after a few months, Richie Tozier forgets the name of his best friend who has brown eyes and black hair and rough hands from always putting alcohol on them but at night, he dreams of rough hands on his hair and soft lips meeting his and legs tangled with his.

(he also dreams of sewers and carnivals and red hair and spider legs crawling through his body. he dreams of slimy hands grabbing his arms and spider legs impaling him in the chest. he dreams of it all and wakes up with tears in his eyes)

((who who who who who _who who who who_))

After a few years, Richie Tozier forgets all about Eddie Kaspbrak.

Then, Richie Tozier grows up and kisses girls and ignores the fluttering in his chest when boys with pretty, brown eyes and black hair smile at him.

And in 27 years, Richie Tozier is a successful DJ and his Voices had actually gotten him somewhere. He no longer dreams of rough hands and soft, black hair.

Richie’s running late for an event. An event with some prestigious celebrity that likes him to the point they invited him. Richie thinks it’s stupid, but he won’t say no to alcohol and pretty women. He’s been practicing his mix of James Dean and Elvis Presley Voice to trick some old men there. He’s been told there’d be a lot of old people there who likes old movies.

His assistant had arranged for him a limousine and he’s been running around his house like a madman, trying to find his wallet and phone. It’s 7:30 and the party has started thirty minutes ago. He just knows his phone is littered with angry messages and missed calls. 

A horn honks on his front door.

_Shit_, he thinks, fumbling around his living room and screams in relief when he finally finds his phone hiding between his cushion pillows. He checks the time. 7:35pm. And he has 50% left. Good enough.

With a sigh, he quickly runs toward the door, locks it, and runs even faster to the limousine. When he goes inside with ragged breathing, the driver turns to look at him and he faces with pretty, brown eyes and black hair and feels his heart stutter.

(it never does. what’s so familiar with brown eyes and black hair? there’s a name there’s a name _there’s a name_. he can’t remember)

“Hi,” he breathes out. “You’re…”

He thinks of his assistant’s message earlier this morning.

_At 7:30, Eddie Kaspbrak will drive you to the venue. I arranged it at 7:30 because I know you’ll be late. Don’t make Mr. Kaspbrak wait, yeah? It’s tough to book him_.

“Eddie?”

It rolls off his tongue so smoothly that he feels like he’s talking to an old friend.

“Yes. Good evening, Mr. Tozier,” Eddie says before starting the car. “Are we good to go?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, can’t seem to stop thinking about his eyes.

_You’re so fucking creepy, man_, he thinks. _That’s your limo driver for fucks sake!_

It’s been fifteen minutes of driving when they encounter traffic and Richie mutters a small _fuck_, looking out the window. He hears a sigh from Eddie, and he turns to look at him. “You all right there?”

“Huh?” Eddie says shocked, like his clients don’t talk to him. “Yeah, just feeling a little headache.”

The car moves and Richie realizes that they’re near the event. He can see flashing lights and hundreds of people lining up.

“I think I got Aspirin here, man, if you need it,” Richie remembers and pats his pockets around to feel the sharp plastic of the pill. He moves around the seat and ignores Eddie’s voice.

“Oh no, it’s okay, Mr. Tozier!” Eddie says, stopping the car from traffic and looks at him quickly. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

Richie lets out a cry of triumph as he takes out the singular piece of Aspirin and coincidentally, the car stops in front of the club. “Here you go, old chap!” he does a Voice and Eddie looks at him as he hands over the Aspirin. “Another payment for bringing me here!”

“Thank you, Mr. Tozier.” Eddie smiles at him and Richie feels like his life wasn’t complete before he had smiled at him. For some reason, he wants to see that smile on Eddie every day. It haunts him for awhile.

“Richie,” he blurts out, “you can call me Richie.”

Something passes through Eddie’s face and Richie blinks. They both stare at each other and then Eddie looks down at his hand and nods. “Thank you, Richie,” he says softly before clearing his throat. “We’ve arrived.”

“We sure did!” Richie says, laughing a little. _C’mon, feet, get to moving!_

“Thanks a lot, Eds!”

Eddie looks at him in shock and Richie feels his heart in his throat. 

_eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie_

(why why why why why does it feel so familiar?)

Richie coughs and quickly reaches for the door. He can hear the clicking of cameras and the inevitable flash on his eyes. He looks at Eddie Kaspbrak and thinks: _who are you and why do i feel this way?_

“Have a safe night, Richie,” Eddie clears his throat and looks at the road again. “Thank you for the Aspirin and trusting our company.”

Richie Tozier looks at Eddie Kaspbrak for the last time and opens the limousine door. “Thank you, Eddie,” he grins at him. “‘Till next time, old chap!”

A chuckle leaves Eddie’s lips and he nods, smiling back at Richie.

Richie watches as the limousine drives away and he’s come back to his senses when a paparazzi goes to his face, shoves a microphone at him and asks, “Richie Tozier! How hard was it to practice your Voice, Colonel Buford Kissdrivel?”

“Not so hard, my good sir!” Richie says in said Voice and the clicking of the cameras worsen. His head feels dizzy and he quickly moves towards the entrance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me!”

When Richie gets to the alcohol and has successfully swept off 80% of the people in the event off their feet, he thinks of Eddie Kaspbrak and the way his eyes have tugged something in Richie’s heart and the way his palms had looked rough and dry. Richie drinks and drinks and drinks and tries to remember what it feels like to be loved.

When Richie wakes up the next morning with an evil taste in his mouth, it’s the first time he’s dreamt of rough hands and brown eyes and black hair. But, like always, his dreams are void of faces yet full of feelings. Richie looks down at his hands and for the first time since he was thirteen, he cries and cries and cries.

When Richie wakes up, he has forgotten about Eddie Kaspbrak.

(again and again and again and again)

**iv. ** _let the fear you have fall away_

When Mike Hanlon calls, the first thing—or person—Richie Tozier remembers is Henry Bowers. And then it punches him in the face.

When he’s on the plane to Derry, memories upon memories upon memories crash onto him and he can’t seem to make them stop. 

_hands holding his brown eyes staring at him shittywater in his mouth broken arms red hair laughter in the lake the turtle black hair socked feet hitting his face on the hammock the hammock oh my god the hammock_

_(blood in his face baseball bats paper boats clown in the sewer his dirty secret the clown bowers the rock fight the clown stuttering bill the clown haystack the clown the clown the clown **the clown THE CLOWN RICHIE**)_

When Richie Tozier lands in Derry, he’s had ten glasses of wine and he’s thinking of pretty, brown eyes and black hair and rough hands.

(_are they still rough like i remembered them?_)

And when Richie Tozier locks eyes with Eddie Kaspbrak, he feels like he’s eleven again.

Because when Richie looks at Eddie’s bloodied face, back at the sewers and rocks falling around them, everything smelling of shittywater, he feels his chest constrict, he feels like he’s eleven again and about to die.

“Bill, Bill, Bill, oh my god, Eddie lost his arm—Ben, oh my god, _Beverly_,” he’s crying out as he wraps his jacket around Eddie’s elbow, where It has managed to bite off his remaining arm left. Eddie’s looking at him with fluttering eyes and he feels like sobs and sobs are racking over his body.

“Eds, Eds, oh my god, don’t do this to me, c’mon, man,” Richie blubbers out, hands cradling Eddie’s face and holding him to his chest as Bill screams behind him to defeat It. “Eddie, Eddie, please please please _please_.”

“I—I’m not—” Eddie coughs out and Richie feels like his heart is being squeezed. “I’m not dying yet.”

“No, no, no,” Richie grabs Eddie’s face and makes eye contact, looking at his pretty, brown eyes and dirty, black hair and caresses Eddie’s cheeks. “No yet, Eds. No yet. Don’t die on me, please.”

“Don’t call me that, fuckface.” Eddie laughs out, closing his eyes. “It’s been 27 years, man.”

“Don’t close your eyes, Eds, please,” Richie laughs weakly, touching Eddie’s forehead with his and closing his eyes. He can hear the screams of Bill and It, the way its shrieking as it thrashes around, and he whimpers. 

Richie Tozier is scared. He’s scared of It. He’s scared for his friend. He’s scared of Eddie dying. He doesn’t want him to die.

“I’ll take care of you, Eddie,” he whispers, and Eddie opens his eyes. 

_pretty brown eyes staring into his and he feels like he’s going to puke his heart out. there’s no killer clown there’s no killer clown just you and me and there’s no killer clown it’s just_

“You and me,” Richie whispers again, tasting salty tears in his mouth and he grips Eddie’s face harder. “I’ll get you out of here and I’ll fucking take care of you. Like I’ve always had. Like you’ve always had. I’ll take care of you like you take care of me.”

Richie feels someone pull him away from Eddie and he turns to look at Bill. “We need to go _now_.”

And it’s then Richie realizes that the place is fucking falling apart and Eddie’s dying (no, no, he’s _not_) in his arms and he’s fucking crying and Bill is—Bill wants—

“We have to leave, Richie. We can’t take Eddie.”

“No!” Richie screams, pulling away from Bill and he quickly bends down, putting his arms under Eddie’s body. “I’m not leaving him!”

“We ca-cah-cahn’t take him, Rih-Richie!” Bill screams, amongst the screams of stones hitting the ground and Richie can’t seem to think straight and feels tears cloud his vision.

“I’m not leaving him here!” Richie screams at him. “Leave me here, asshole! I’m not leaving Eddie—he’s fucking _alive_!”

“Let’s carry him, then,” Ben pants and Richie whips his head to look at him in shock. Ben’s face is littered with blood and dirt, but he’s never looked more like an angel. Ben smiles at Richie. “We fucking killed It, I’m not gonna let Eddie die here.”

“Ben…” Richie feels his heart burst and when Beverly screams _hurry the fuck up!_ Ben quickly moves towards Eddie and Richie feels his hands brush against his and he clears his throat and then, they both carry Eddie.

Richie tries to stop a sob from leaving his mouth as Eddie’s bleeding arm stains his shirt and he watches as Eddie’s eyes flutter and flutter. “I’ll take care of you, Eds,” he gasps out, voice raspy from sobbing and screaming. He hears It’s screams from behind them and the way Beverly is sobbing but he can’t look away from Eddie.

His Eddie. 

_eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie eddie_

“I got you,” Richie rasps out, “I got you, okay? Don’t leave me, Eds. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, _please_.”

“Help me here, Richie,” Ben says but Richie feels too far away. He can’t focus on anything but when Ben kneels and takes Eddie’s body with him, Richie blinks and they’re at the small pathway out.

“Eddie, this is gonna hurt a little, okay?” Ben says and Richie briefly registers the groan Eddie lets out. “I’m gonna have to push you a little to get you out. We’ll get you to a hospital soon, okay? You can do it, I promise.”

“Fuck,” Eddie says quietly, and Richie bites his lip. “I think you guys should just leave me. I don’t think—”

“No!” Richie screams out, feeling rocks hit his arm and he hisses, “we’re not leaving you! Fuck, c’mon, Ben, this thing is fucking falling apart, and we need to save Eddie!”

Richie watches as Ben goes first and stretches out his hands. “I’ll help you from here,” he explains, and Richie feels his heart constrict as he softly lays Eddie on the ground. He brushes back Eddie’s hair and for a quick moment, he kisses his forehead and takes a deep breath. 

“I’ll get you out of here,” he whispers and looks behind him. Beverly, Mike, and Bill have already gotten out and he feels his heart puke itself out as the rumbling of rocks slowly descend toward him.

He watches as Ben tries to take Eddie’s body and he bites his lip. _I’m not leaving you again_.

**i. ** _it doesn’t matter, now it’s all gone / love’s so strong it makes me feel so weak_

When Eddie wakes up, it’s to white walls and an ache in his arm and he briefly thinks if he’s eleven again. His ma outside the door and screaming at doctors and nurses.

The beeping beside him makes him groan a little and he tries to open his eyes to see what’s going on. Maybe he _is_ eleven years old again.

“Oh my god, you-you’re awa-way-wake!” Bill.

“Bill?” he tries to say but all that comes out of him is coughs and saliva.

“Oh shi-hi-hit. I’ll get a nu-nurse.”

_Richie_.

“No,” he coughs out, “where’s—?”

“We’ll talk later, okay, Eddie?” then, Eddie’s eyesight clears, and he sees Bill and he’s older and the pain in his arm isn’t because Henry Bowers broke it.

He remembers it now.

They killed It, right? 

And in return, half of his arm got eaten. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbles. How is he _alive_?

When the door opens with a multitude of voices following it, Eddie feels his eyes flutter close and he sighs deeply. _Oh well_, he thinks, _at least I’m already at the hospital_.

When Eddie wakes up, it’s still to white walls and no blood on the walls and a creepy clown-spider grinning at him. The fastening beep of his heart keeps him grounded.

“Eddie?”

He looks to his right. _Oh_.

It’s Richie. And he’s holding his hand. Eddie squeezes his. 

Oh, so this is real.

“You’re awake,” Richie gasps and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Of course, I am.”

“You just woke up and you’re already sassing me,” Richie grins, a total opposite of what he said. “What a way to thank the guy who saved your life.”

Eddie’s heart stutters. 

_when he feels the hard ground on his back and blood still pouring out of him, he feels someone brush his hair back and kisses his forehead. who who who?_

_(richie richie richie richie)_

“You saved me?”

Richie’s grin falters but he does let out a small chuckle, shoulders shrugging as he looks down at their intertwined hands. “Well, Ben and I. But I tried my best, Eds.”

“Don’t call—” he says but then he bites his tongue. He then says softly, “Don’t call me that.”

Richie smiles at him and Eddie feels like he’s eleven again, in the good way. 

“Eds,” he says and then, tears slip out of his eyes and Eddie feels his heart clench. “Eds, Eds, oh god. You know I’m not gonna stop calling you that, right?”

“I’m not hoping for it,” Eddie laughs softly and squeezes Richie’s hand again. “Thank you.”

Richie sniffles and Eddie wishes he had his other hand, as ugly as it may sound, so he can comfort Richie other than holding his hand. “I’m just glad you’re alive,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Nerd,” Eddie coughs out and he feels Richie squeeze his hand again. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” Richie whispers, looking up and making eye contact and Eddie feels his breath taken away from him. “But I can’t help it, Eds.”

Eddie grins. “You’ll take care of me, right?”

And then, Richie Tozier, flushes a pretty red that goes to his ears and Eddie is speechless. “You heard that shit?”

Eddie frowns. “It wasn’t shit to me.”

“That’s _embarrassing_,” Richie groans, resting his forehead on their intertwined hands.

“I think it’s cute,” Eddie reassures him, hearing his voice strain from embarrassment. “Thank you, Richie.”

“You always take care of us,” Richie moves his forehead around their hands and Eddie smiles. “I wanna take care of you, Eddie.”

The pain Eddie feels in his heart is far greater than the pain he feels in his arm. “Do you like me?” he blurts out.

_God, Eddie_, he thinks, _you’re a forty-year-old man asking your crush if he likes you! What are you, a teenager?_

Richie raises his head from where he’s resting it on their hands and Eddie stares back. “Eds,” he starts, “I just told you I wanna take care of you.”

“Like in a friend way?”

“I thought I was the stupid one?”

“What the fuck,” Eddie says. “You’re serious?”

“You’re seriously making me say it?” Richie groans and Eddie fights off a smile. “Eds Kaspbrak, I like—no, I’m in _love_ with you. So please, let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” Eddie smiles, looking away to hide his smile and Richie groans loudly, squeezing his hand. “I won’t call you out for calling me Eds.”

There’s silence between then, “Is that an ‘I love you too’?”

Living without half of your arm is fucking bullshit. This, Eddie thinks every day. Then you get the nightmares. He can still the sharp teeth of It digging through his arm as he forcefully pulls away from It. He can still smell the sewer—like it’s permanently stuck in his nostrils and despite everything and anything, it’s still there.

(_my son is very delicate my son is very delicate you’re too weak, eddie-bear you’re too delicate don’t go hanging around with those kids you’re very weak, eddie be a good boy for mommy now you’re too delicate eddie_)

Sometimes, he stares out the window and thinks, _why me?_

And then Richie comes in, bug-eyed and toothy grin, holding two cups of tea and sitting beside Eddie. Sometimes, he talks. Sometimes, he doesn’t. 

Richie gets nightmares, too.

(_“Sometimes,” Richie says, late at night, holding Eddie’s hand and holding it close to his chest. “Sometimes, I dream that I left you there. Sometimes, I dream that It took more than your arm. Sometimes, I dream that I died when I was eleven.”_

_Eddie always squeezes his hand and moves a little to make Richie aware that he wants him to open his eyes and look at him. “Me too,” he whispers back, making circles with his thumb on Richie’s hand. “Sometimes I dream that you guys left me. I can still feel It’s teeth on my skin. Other times I dream of It taking you instead of me.”_

_“It’ll never happen, okay?” Eddie whispers when Richie becomes too quiet. “We’ll take care of each other, okay? Even from creepy clowns.”_

_“_Especially_ from creepy clowns,” Richie laughs wetly and then there’s stumbling and fumbling as Richie reaches for his face and kisses him gently. “I’ll always take care of you,” he would whisper, and Eddie would think that’s his way of saying i love you._)

Today, Richie places the cups in front of Eddie and takes his hand and kisses it. Eddie smiles softly at him. 

“You didn’t take your vitamins, big guy.”

“Vitamins?” Eddie asks, looking at him in confusion.

Richie puckers his lips. “Vitamin R, baby!”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’d rather have Vitamin Richie.”

Richie splutters. “That—That’s me! I’m Vitamin R!”

Eddie rolls his eyes and squeezes his hand. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he smiles and Richie grins at him. 

He feels a squeeze back. “I’ll always take care of you.”

Richie Tozier is 40 years old when he finally experiences holding Eddie Kaspbrak’s hand.

Eddie Kaspbrak is 40 years old when he realizes there’s something far even braver than killing off a creepy clown.

**Author's Note:**

> h-how was it ,, im cryinf this fic took me a week n i immedtaiely wrote it after watching it 2.. i cant handle tht ending DANG . yeth im aware the ending is a lil ?? but do i CARE . i want eddie ALIVE n HAPPY OK!! hes my baby... so this is for u stephen king  
also if u see any mistakes pls dont hesitate 2 comment also pls donthesitate to comment abt the fic n stuff<3 esp if smthn made u smile or smthn hehe ^__^ they make me very Happy i rly hope u enjoyed this fic i love u  
(also my [twitter](https://twitter.com/pocketblush) if u wanna ehe) ♡


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